


To Tame

by Senalia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Cat Draco Malfoy, Humiliation, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, M/M, Obsessive Harry, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Top Harry, Unstable Harry, pet!Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 06:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senalia/pseuds/Senalia
Summary: A journalist of The Prophet had gone missing one day during work. He was last spotted near Harry Potter's residence.





	To Tame

**Author's Note:**

> It's after midterm, and I'm a bitter, vindictive person who decides to write something for releasing stress, so my lovely readers should be warned that this is not at all vanilla Dom/Sub, and it has pure Non-Con content. This work is a BDSM in disguise, but only with the bonus of Draco having cat ears and tail, just because I want that erotic image of Draco to involve something other than fluff. That's it, enjoy!

I adopted him on a stormy day, and I remembered so only because his temper was just as vicious as the downpour outside.

I found him curling up beside my pot of tiny forget-me-nots beside the front door, miserably hiding as much as he could from the mean, beating rain beyond the narrow porch.

I knew he didn't belong here in my neighbourhood of working-class Muggles as I watch him trembled pathetically in his wet fur - the cats who inhabited this place still ventured out hunting under the terraces in spite of the most wintry weather, and they were always persistent of having the full nine-lives. Besides, I’ve been watching him closely since he had started to patronize about the area, as I was quite confident that I couldn't, for the love of my life, be mistaken of that white-blonde fur and dainty gait for anyone else, even though he hid in the Animagus form. But I remained pretending to be oblivious, letting him observe my life in full complacency and report back to his society of gossipy pussies in the magical world. I was more curious about his presence than his habit of sharing my personal life with the press. With little reluctance, I decided to shelter him.

In the moment of a heroic act, I forgot that his breed often didn’t appreciate kindness when it was offered. I ended up with so many bloody scratches and deep, canine-teeth marks that I have to put him on a leash that was clumsily made from a red construction cord, for I had nothing else suitable for the sudden occasion. Tied to a table in the kitchen, he finally relented and revealed his human form, naïvely thinking if I knew who he was I’d let him free, but not knowing that he’d made a crucial mistake. He wasn't wearing any clothes, and the foolish thing tried to persevere his modesty with his hands. His wand wasn't with him. I guessed he didn't think about this particular situation either.

It was absurdly comical when he expected me to let him go after he’d displayed his long, slim legs and bared white neck - around which adorned tightly by red rope - for me to admire. My nurtured, long-time attraction for him would never forgive me if I let him escape. Once realizing that I had no intention of doing what he’d requested, he started to accuse me of forcible human confinement and threaten that I’d rot in Azkaban for my crime. He began to throw a tantrum when I ignored him, screeched my name (POTTER!), and let profanities rolled out on his wicked tongue like a natural habit. I ignored him further and left to make a pot of tea. He said that I was a sick pervert, a cracked-headed freak when I came back, and I backhanded him because he was so ungrateful toward my hospitality. I told him so. He said to me in his lovely, sardonic voice that had he not been treated like a stupid pet; he would’ve been happy enough to send me a Gryffindor-coloured thank you note. I then told him that he had misunderstood, that I _was_  indeed treating him as my pet, and that he was now allowed to have neither freedom nor tea.

His stormy grey eyes went a shade paler when I cast the spell. He was about to say something but cried when his body reacted to my incantation. He clawed at his head when it sprouted a pair of pointy feline ears, then scratched at the base of his new tail, which was whipping frantically back and forth. He forgot all about his modesty as he reached back to touch his tail and up to find his ears. It was endearing to watch the sensual body of my pet went taunt in fear and stiffen in shock. When he screeched for help, I had to gag him with Muggle tape that I had on hand. Silencio didn't quite serve the purpose when I wanted him to listen to his own submissive, adorable whines as I tamed his wild nature of a beast into that of a little house kitten. But I had to bound him first, of course, no matter how deceivingly delicate his wrists were, I knew from experience that they were quite nimble in flicking hexes and spells. Feline was an unpredictable species, and a bright thing like him would easily catch his owner off guard and run away from home. I didn't want that.

He had a thing for kicking, but when I got in between his legs and pressed him to lay flat on his back, it wasn't so much a problem. The preparation was done carefully, but my poor pet still cried and cried as my slicked fingers moved inside him. His pretty face blotched with patches of pink because of the stress I assumed he was undergoing. His grey eyes were glassy under the blinking fluorescent light. I wanted to watch more of his eyes, but he shut them close. I was as gentle as I could, cooing and soothing him to relax, and I always warn him when I was about to add another finger. Charlie told me once that taming a beast began by establishing trust, and I was confident in his expertise from many years of taming dragons.

A stray cat seemed very much less of a problem.

What was grating on my patience was his disregard of my effort; I had a total of three digits in my pet and not once did I let the desire of seeing his puckered rim stretched around my whole hand to overwhelm my self-control. I thought that was quite noble of me, but Draco kept whimpering as if he was in great discomfort. I resolved to tell him that I was proud of him to take them, and he merely leered at me with his pretty eyes as if to say that I need to fuck off. I adored those defiant eyes. I couldn’t wait for them to mellow into obedience.

Because he had bravely offered me a little bit of attitude, I was quite enthusiastic to reward him with pleasure. The scream resonated from his pale throat was the absolute music to my ears when my cock forced through his wet, hot hole. I was breathless at the ineffable sensation of heat and velvet that enveloped all around my libido. Allowing him some minutes to adjust, I used that time to watch him and was completely mesmerized by the slight twitching of his downturned ears and the fast flaring of his nostrils as he breathed through his nose. It was only when a drop of salty sweat found its way into the corner of my left eyes that I remembered what I was supposed to be doing. I pulled out and was pleasantly surprised to notice the mouth of his pink rim clung to my cock like a lifeline. I fantasized if his real mouth would give the same treatment.

His clenching hole was so fascinating to watch that I didn't even realize I’ve taken the whole shaft out. I wondered what he would think if he'd noticed I've been staring at his anus with utter reverence. I told him that he was very distracting, and slapped him on the arse cheek. He started to cry again, and I noted that he didn't take pain too well. He didn't take Buckbeak's scratch too well either in our third year. I told him I was sorry, told him I was about to enter him now and told him to relax so it'll be less painful for him.

But he didn't. He thought he’d made himself nearly impossible for penetration, and screamed in frustration when I breached him again. It was his loss that he didn't listen; I have no qualm about fucking a wonderfully tight arse. I could even feel the rebellion in the way he was determined to push me out, but I knew that his intention wasn't the result of marvellous pressure around my cock. I let him pushed me until it was only the head that was inside, then thrust forward to be fully in him again. He grunted and grumbled, but stubbornly repeated his tactic, just to be roughly breached some minutes later. I let him play his little game until he was exhausted until he accepted the futility of fighting back, and opened his wide grey eyes to beg me mercy, cruelty, or anything but my current teasing, of which I assumed he just couldn't endure any longer. Smiling at him, I reached down to please my pet but was appalled when I discovered that he’d been soft this whole time.

How unthoughtful I've been!

I then lavished my attention on him, giving my all in every caresses and stroke. He seemed to like it when I dug my thumb underneath his foreskin and squeezed the smooth head between my fingers. The only indication of his arousal was a fast, involuntary whip of his tail and the red rose flush on his cheeks.

As I toyed with him, he became less belligerent but more greedy. His knees opened on their own will, and even though his body was tense with lust, he didn't resist me as I gradually ease forward.

Inside him was a wonder that I couldn't get enough of; it exceeded my most erotic wet dreams in which he was the sole charming protagonist - a wanton slut. I drove into him, and I couldn't believe my luck when he first howled with pure pleasure. I tried to hit that spot, tried to memorize to which angle I should aim and how deep I was at, tried to deliver the utmost passion that my dear pet deserved. He entranced me with his white skin which glistened with sweat and his hips which began to move and match with my rhythm. The soft moans followed by the laboured breathing was the main chorus to which we danced in the oblivion of ardour. By the time when I began to abuse him with fast and shallow thrusts, he seemed to have forgotten all the denial of pleasure as he thrashed his torso against mine, forcing down on me as vigorous as that of an eager, young bull who was learning to headbutt. I could sense the coy approach of his orgasm, and my cock thickened at the imagined vision of my lovely kitten losing self-control and intelligence at the touch of my hands and the brute force of my body. I gave him more dedication, almost all of myself at that moment; I boldly kissed his gagged mouth, feeling the dampness of his breaths and the warmth of his lips underneath the matte, black duct tape. Our breaths mingled as I fed off that weak heat like a starving beggar. His body language began to scream urgency - the unspoken needs. There were tears in his grey eyes. He was looking right at me, in that instance, I knew exactly what he wanted. It didn’t take a psychic or a genius to read him, for his face was a confessional piece of forbidden literature. Intimacy intensified, I ripped off the tape to feel him.

 

He came, kissing me back with those sticky lips that smelled of industrial plastic, and moaned into my mouth. I loved him. I loved his perfection. I was undone at his mewling when I bit his pointy white-blond ear.

After long enough for all the sweat on my back to dry, I noticed that he still didn't stop shaking.

The next few days were quiet since Draco would always hide away in some dark corners, which he deemed as his temporary nests, as he tried to avoid me. It was too cruel to leash him in one place, so I charmed the cord to extend to whichever part of the house he felt like roaming that day. He refused to eat anything at first. But I now reckoned that he would rather sneak out a spoon from my kitchen and eat with the last of his civilized dignity alone, than being forced to eat with me shoving his face into a bowl on the ground. I didn’t mind him sneaking about too much (I’ve managed to charm his leash nearly indestructible); stealth was in every cat’s nature, and mine had even more so if his Malfoy breeding was being considered.

Furthermore, I enjoyed watching him scrambled to hide the utensils when I walked into the room, then looked at me innocently but with his ears turned down in guilt.

He ignored me when I called him, however, leaving me standing like an oaf in the doorway when I came home, so I thought I would have to train him to be more responsive to my bidding once he trusted me more. I tried the bowl tapping thing to call for your cat, but mine was special, and he didn't fall for that cheap trick. I was worried that someday he’d fall sick and I wouldn't even be able to find him in my own house. I decided to put a collar on him, replacing the rope that was starting to ruin the perfection of his skin. Asking his consent, of course, was probably a right thing to do, but the little red ribbon that had a tiny, golden, jingling Snitch suited my dear Draco so well that I had to have him wear it. Precisely, I wanted him to wear it while I drove blindly into him from behind. I couldn't even imagine how blissful it would be to hear the merrily ringing noise harmonizing with his sobs and whimpers as his elegant body was being fucked to a pulp. I knew that incessant jingling sound would be sweet when I left inside my pet a vibrator - a purple one with extra girth and one that moved with such a frequency that he wouldn't be able to sit up when I switch to its maximum violent capability. I then would have to tape the toy securely in his hole and request him to crawl around and fetch random things that I didn't need; I bet his body would lay trembling like a wrecked, wounded lamb in his usual dark corners after such tasks. The helpful noises will lead me to him, so I won't have to worry about where I will have to retrieve my poor pet. He won't have to play hide and seek with me any longer.

He had that lofty, lazy air of a pet that had been fed to the mouth the fattest piece of salmon ever since he was borne, and still, he maintained that manner when I raised him. However, only when after he was sure I wasn't there, he would then indulge in unguarded idleness. I was very keen to catch a glimpse of him sitting on the window sill of the tea room, cladded in my white shirt that was too big for him. He was quite relaxed, for I could tell by the light kicking of his long legs, the slowly swishing of his long tail, but it was only his grey eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher as they reflect the smoky, blustering sky outside the dirty-spotted glass. I asked him once what beauty did he find in the dark sky, and he told me that he liked looking for black crows in the smog. I said that was quite a useless thing to do. He sneered at me that if I’ve had a brain that was bigger than the booger in the Dark Lord’s nose, I’d be able to trace the crows, but then recoiled when he realized that he had made me angry.

I wasn't angry, but I was certainly annoyed in fondness.

I told him that if he could show me his creative mouth could do anything else other than hurting people’s feelings, I’d forgive the insults, and I’d even give him cold tea with milk as a reward. My cat was quite fond of chai when I let him lick my teaspoon, so he was quite eager to earn his sweet prize. When his rough, cattish tongue grazed my cock, I berated my foolish self not to let Draco did this earlier. But my pet was clumsy, his maneuver awkward and shy. He needed proper training, and I didn't mind guiding him from step to step, for I find sheer delight in the way he blushed whenever I gave out a command for him to obey. He was frustrated, however, when I told him to weave his tongue under my tight foreskin, and said that I was an idiot for thinking that was possible. I merely shoved my fingers into his mouth, took out his pink, wet tongue despite his whinging of protest, and slid it where I wanted it to be. He was genuinely surprised, but he didn't have so much time to taste my skin because I shoved myself forward and embedded deep in his throat. I told him that this was how much of me I would often want him to take as he choked on my cock, and told him that if he wanted to win the prized cuppas, he should try to work harder. He scratched my left inner thigh. Maybe because he couldn't swear at me at that moment, but still did as best as he could to please me, or to get it over with. I assumed it was the latter.

Afterwards, when he had his bowl of weak tea and a generous amount of milk, he asked me politely that if it were the other way around - strong tea and little milk - he would be very grateful. I gleefully told him that I have a brain that was no bigger than the Dark Lord’s booger, so from now on he should just crawl on all fours and be ready to work hard for me whenever I want him, and perhaps then I would remember how to brew his reward correctly. I did so because I knew he never mucked with his tea, reminiscing what I’ve known of him from our school days. I knew that he would take it seriously, but I deliberately ignore the ‘plop, plop’ of his tears falling into the bowl of tea.

From then on was a peaceful week. Draco seemed to finally familiarize with his little collar, even though now and then he still complained about the itching the ribbon made, he had stopped clawing at it. Maybe it was a loud jingling sound that he couldn’t stand, and decided just to leave the collar alone. The most progress was that he now did come to me whenever I called, and I was quite happy as I get to see him greeting me with his lowered tail and watchful eyes at the entrance. Having a pet was quite worthy of all the trouble, though he didn’t cause so much of havoc like before. Sometimes in the tea room, I'd catch him flipping the pages of a book that I suspected he had stolen from my bedroom's drawers or lounging as he basked in the pale yellow of diluted sunlight. I kept in mind the idea of having tea there more often, for I thought that Draco rather liked the smell of the tea I took.

One night, I told him that Hermione and Ron would come for a visit when he was riding on top of me. He stopped and gave me a look that screamed horror. I knew it was just his instinct, but to abandon me as I was that close was just cruel on his part. I spent an hour explaining that I will transform him fully to his Animagus so he wouldn’t need to be worried, but still, he didn’t listen and fretted the for the whole day. I could hear the jingling sound of the Snitch as he paced the tea room at night. I kept my word and transformed him into a full white-blond cat before I went to work, reassuring him that my friends wouldn’t notice.

When I came home with Hermione and Ron to find my house in an entirely abysmal state, like a tornado had just come through the front door, I first assumed that I had been robbed and, frantically, I immediately searched for my cat. I couldn’t call his name because my friends were there, but I made those ‘tut, tut’ noises and hoped that he was just hiding somewhere in the cupboard as the thieves went through the house. But when he finally came out with his tail between his legs and his ears pressed flat against his little head, I knew at once who the culprit of this disaster was. Had Hermione not laughed and scooped my cat up into her arm, I would’ve kicked him. My guests and I had to have tea on the ground with the plastic cups my bad kitten didn’t destroy, and I glared at him the whole time. I’ve also noticed that he relaxed immensely in Hermione’s arms as she scratched behind his ears and that he even purred when Ron raked his fingers on his long back. I realized then that little devil craved touching as much as a slut craved sex, and since we’ve been living together, I hadn’t pet him once. I also realized that I didn’t like it when he lavished the attention he was getting from my friends, or maybe from any other human but me.

Later when Ron and Hermione departed, I switched him back to his half human-half beast form. I thought I had become too lenient and had made my pet forget how important it was for him to keep his discipline in my house.

I asked him how long did it take him to wreck the place.

He told me less than three minutes because he was a little liar and probably thought the less time it took, the less he will have to endure his punishment.

I told him that was all the time he had to prepare himself before I take him dry, and that he must pinch his own nipples while at it. I couldn't help smirking in pity when he turned pale. Poor, naïve thing.

There wasn't much time for him to feel pleasure as he hastily played with himself, but I didn’t intend to leave him alone. I scratched the spot behind his ears, caressed his sides and back, marked his small shoulders, rubbed his unoccupied nipple, and licked his cock to distract him completely from his task. He would go rigid for a moment when my tongue graced pass his hairless balls but abruptly resumed the self-preparation as he remembered how crucial it was for his uncompromising hole to be pliant. He bled only a little when I forced myself inside him. I admitted I was rough in comparison to the other times, but he must be punished for what he had done. I was quite heart-broken when he begged me to stop. He had cried in humiliation but never did he cried for me to stop before. But I was drunk with temper and really didn't have the mind to be merciful; the more he begged, the more I was aggravated. When I was done, I spanked him until his arse was flushed red and so soft and numb that it couldn’t even hold in my come. I told him to keep his arsehole open for me to watch my fluid dripped out of his defiled hole, and he obeyed almost immediately.

Sitting there in my armchair and enjoying the view of him - on the white duvet, face down and bottom up, all red and exposed - I was quite proud that my pet had learnt to feel contrite. I sat there for hours until the spunk became dry and his thin fingers were tired and couldn't hold himself open anymore.

After that night, my pet began to flinch at my presence. Whenever I reached out with the intent to pet him, he would retreat and run away from me. He didn’t let me touch so much of him either when I made love to him. He would turn away when I attempted to kiss his mouth or did anything that was intimate. I was very cross about it. I trapped him in my lap one night to ask him, but he only trembled like frighten kitten and didn’t say a word. I assumed that he was still embarrassed, so I let him be for now. Cats did need their private times after all.

But there was that one day I came home late at night and caught him fiddling with the lock I’ve put on the window of the tea room. He cried when I dragged him by the tail and threw him into the closet. I plugged him up real tight with his favourite purple vibrator, tied the familiar red cord he had become close friends with around his cock and wrists, and gagged him with the industrial duct tape that I knew he hated so much. I even dug out his early birthday present of the silver nipple clamps to use for the occasion and attached its chain to the red rope at his cock after convincing myself that he deserved it. Finally, I blindfolded him and left him there for three days.

But without him in my bed, I couldn’t sleep very well. I had to come and sit in front of the closet to listen to his pathetic mewling and the jingling of his Snitch collar every night. I stroked myself and luxuriated in his suffering. I called out to him that if he wouldn't try to leave me anymore, I’d love him very much. I even promised him I’d love him gently and gave him anything he wanted, as long as he will not try to leave home. When I let him out, he immediately clung to me, trembling like a frightened child. He must’ve been very scared. My one-sided conversations might have been the only thing that comforted him through the nights. I held him as he cried and cried, letting my fingers card through his soft, damp hair and pet his fragile back, knowing that he had finally belonged to me, despite all the nearly-incoherent words that came out from his mouth then were ‘I hate you, Potter, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you’. My cat was a charming liar, but I kept my promises, the Gryffindor that I was.

A month from then, our humble lives at home were nothing but blissful. Draco came to me on own his own accord a lot now that he finally knew how to appreciate affection. Sometimes I did think I spoiled him too much for his own good, but he was my dear little cat, and I really couldn’t do anything about it. Whenever I came home after a day of hard work, I’d hear the merry sound from the golden, tiny Snitch as my cat came to greet me at the door. If I wasn't too tired, I’d swiped him up into my arms, and he’d embrace my waist with his lovely legs, his long tail would wound itself around my right thigh. I’d ask him how his day was as I nuzzled his cheek and kissed his cat ears, and he’d always answer that it was lonely without me. I’d make dinner, and beside me, he’d watch me cook while lounging on the kitchen counter and playfully put his soft hand on mine while I was stirring something in the simmering pot. On some day when we felt spontaneous, I’d bent him over the counter next to the spice rack.

I’ve been more gentle with him now, but he was the one who spurred me on to go harder, and I really couldn’t complain. After, we’d eat our food naked in front of the telly, both of us on the floor and he leant back against my chest and sat between my legs. The proximity was uncomfortable to eat, but after we’d worked out that I’d just feed him my food while I eat, it was quite manageable. Besides, he told me that he liked my cooking more than the offending kitty nibbles I had fed him before, and I had the opportunity to spill food on whichever part of his body that I craved that day. My cheeky cat would swipe that spillage right back on my face or lips for a little revenge. I loved it when he showed me attitude. I wanted to believe that I wasn't cruel enough to break him.

We then moved to the tea room. I would deposit my cat there to nap and go away to finish up the work that I'd brought home from the office. He would come in at some random time and remind me to have a little break, and I would comply and come with him to make our tea. Yes, I allowed him to drink tea with me now, but I still made his cuppa with more milk and watered-down tea. He didn’t complain once.

I didn't believe it when Hermione told me that cats were high-maintenance until Draco started to be fond of me. There were nights when I have to abandon the tall pile of papers and play with my cat, for I really couldn't focus when he sat snugly in my lap and pressed his warm body flushed against mine. Behind us, his tail languidly moved with suggestions. Sometimes I noticed him snuck out of our bedroom to work on the rest of my papers for me, or at least make marginal summaries of the content so I wouldn't have to read until my eyes turned bloodshot. But when I asked him about it, he only shrugged and blamed some mysterious house elf. I knew that he was bored, so I let him be, and even left a chunk of my work back home for him to peruse through. Knowing that my intelligent cat was deprived of brain stimulation, I bought him a new book every week. I brought home two books per week now that my cat had thanked me, and although I’ve been only picking randomly from the new seller's section, every book I brought home was thoroughly read. Soon our house was scattered with mighty piles of books, especially in the tea room. I liked the addition of the pages' rustling sound, to which I could listen along with the jingling of Draco’s collar when I came home. Sometimes he’d be so engrossed in his reading he didn't even notice that I was back, but that meant that I would be able to tackle him while he was vulnerable and kissed him senseless in the air perfumed by faint chai. I loved him; I loved all of him. And I thought that he would feel just the same.

Because of that optimistic hope, I had lowered my guard. When I stepped into the warmth of our home and out of the storm on one winter night, I was appalled to find my cat missing. I didn't see his napping form in his favourite room; I didn't see him sitting on the kitchen counter and smiling suggestively at me, I didn't see him in my office bending over my paper works. I was frantic. I have to find him. My poor pet was lost!

But then I saw the ruined lock on the window of the tea room and the bent hardcovers of the many books that I had bought for him, everything made sense. I inhaled and exhaled with all my might to be calm, willing myself not to cry as I stared out into the grey smog and trying to look for my beloved cat - a Slytherin to his very core.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Organic Chem made me write this lol. All comments and kudos will be very appreciated <3\. Btw, I have this habit of editing my fic all the time because I'm blind and can't see the mistakes until I post it, so if you've noticed some changes, that's because of me.


End file.
